


What The Kids Are Doing These Days

by ErinPtah



Category: The Sarah Jane Adventures
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-22
Updated: 2008-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/pseuds/ErinPtah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah Jane doesn't really understand the appeal of hip-hop and the MySpace; but if it'll help her pursue her 21-year-old neighbor, she's willing to try anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What The Kids Are Doing These Days

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a ficathon at [The Second Time](true).

"It's my profile picture, isn't it?"

Maria had about half a second to wonder what this was supposed to mean before a blast of laser fire exploded the shelf of breakfast cereal behind which they had been hiding. Grabbing her companion's hand, she dragged the older woman around a stand of soup cans. "Your what?"

"My profile picture," repeated Sarah Jane, as Maria rifled through boxes of crackers. "It's too stodgy. Well, I've tried taking a few in modern fashions, but I look ridiculous in giant sunglasses."

"Sarah Jane, what are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to sort out why you haven't accepted my friend request on MySpace!"

Just as the attackers (built like squishy blue rabbits, with armor that looked like sea anemones) rounded the edge of the aisle, Maria tore open a packet of cinnamon graham crackers, thrusting another one into Sarah Jane's hands. Together they crumbled fistfuls and hurled them in the aliens' direction; the last few shots went wild, attackers succumbing to what Mr. Smith had summarized as a severe cinnamon allergy.

"I haven't been on MySpace in, oh, forever," replied Maria, relieving the choking aliens of their weapons. "Everyone's on Facebook these days. What were you doing on MySpace?"

Deactivating each laser in turn with her sonic lipstick, Sarah Jane dropped them in her purse. "Nothing," she said quickly, hefting one of the would-be invaders under each arm. "Nothing at all."

 

*

"Mr. Smith! I need you. And without all the fanfare, if you please."

The computer did _not_ please. What was the use of being more advanced than any machine humans would develop in the next four centuries if you didn't get to show off? He played his opening anthem anyway. Sarah Jane tapped her foot and waited for him to finish.

"What Can I Help You With, Sarah Jane?"

"Maria says she never uses MySpace any more. She says she's on Facebook."

"That Is Correct," said Mr. Smith, after taking a fraction of a nanosecond to scan the entire Internet. "No Activity Has Been Recorded In The Former For One Year, Eleven Months, And Eighteen Days. The Latter Was Updated Two Hours And Six Minutes Ago."

"That recently? What did she change?"

"Her Status Was Altered From 'Maria Jackson is not wanting to write her stupid French paper' To 'Maria Jackson is dreaming of chocolate cake.'"

Sarah Jane frowned. "Is she on any other social networking sites? Preferably some less baffling ones?"

"Maria Jackson Is Also Registered, Under Various Pseudonyms, On Bebo, del.icio.us, Flickr, LibraryThing, LiveJournal, And YouTube. Would You Like Me To Create An Account On Each Of These?"

". . . no, that's all right," stammered Sarah Jane. "I think that would be a bit much, don't you?"

"I Do Not Think, Sarah Jane. I Compute."

"Yes. Well. Send the URLs of her sites to the laptop downstairs, and I'll just take a look at them myself."

"Done. Would You Like A Copy Of The Data Marked Members-Only And User-Only As Well?"

"What? No! That's private!"

Mr. Smith had never quite grasped the importance of "privacy," no matter how much Sarah Jane tried to drill it into him. His sensors were able to pick up nearly everything, and what he hadn't personally recorded he could almost always extrapolate from available data.

So he simply couldn't process why (to take an example at random) Sarah Jane, who in recent years had displayed her species' signs of arousal with an intensity and frequency that increased in inverse proportion to the amount of clothing that a certain human was wearing, would decline when Mr. Smith offered to generate visual representations of this same human wearing no clothing at all.

(He had, after all, already done this for every human who had ever set foot in the house. It had been a slow afternoon, so he'd had a couple of milliseconds to spare.)

"Will That Be All, Sarah Jane?"

"I suppose . . . no, one more thing. What are the kids listening to these days?"

"Please Refine The Question."

Sarah Jane sighed. "Scan consumer records, and tell me what musical artists are most listened to among people aged 18-24."

"Understood."

The results were on Sarah Jane's laptop before she got downstairs. She came back up a minute later for a new analysis, asking that it be limited to the United Kingdom this time.

 

*

As the sirens in the distance signaled that the authorities were finally, finally arriving, Maria turned to Sarah Jane and grinned wickedly. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

"What?"

"I spent all day yesterday trying to figure out _why_ you would possibly invite me to a hip-hop concert. I mean, it's not exactly my taste, is it? And it turns out you wanted to surprise me with a good old-fashioned robot chase!"

"Ah," said Sarah Jane. "Yes. That was rather devious of me, wasn't it?"

"And to think, I almost turned you down," continued Maria, linking one arm through Sarah Jane's and leaning against her as they watched the police cars pull in below. "I'm so glad I trusted you."

 

*

"And so it turns out I've been going about this all wrong."

"Wrong, Mis-tress?"

"Completely wrong," agreed Sarah Jane, scrubbing her dog's smooth metal exterior until it gleamed. "I've been trying to figure out what Maria's _generation_ likes, when all the time I should have been focusing on what _Maria_ likes."

"Sen-si-ble."

"Because, after all, she isn't just like anyone else her age. If she were, I wouldn't be in love with her." Sarah Jane set the soapy brush in the bucket and began toweling K-9 off. "So I've got to try a different approach. Is your wireless connection to Mr. Smith working?"

"Af-fir-ma-tive."

"I need to know what sorts of movies Maria has gone to in the past two years. Her purchase history should be accessible. Fetch."

"In-quir-y, Mis-tress."

"Go on."

"Would it not be sim-pler just to ask Mis-tress Ma-ri-a what mo-vie she would pre-fer?"

"Well, of course I can't just _ask_ her, K-9!"

"In-quir—"

"Out with it!"

"Why not, Mis-tress?"

Sarah Jane sat back on her heels and looked at the dog. K-9 held perfectly still.

"Oh, all right," she said at last. "Maybe you've put your finger on something here."

"Ne-ga-tive, Mis-tress. This u-nit is not e-quipped with fin-gers."

 

*

They were still laughing about the film when the little green Figaro turned back onto Bannerman Road.

"And to think," said Maria as they pulled into the driveway, "we would have had so much less fun if you had forced yourself to watch that dreadful gory action flick that's #1 with uni students."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," stammered Sarah Jane, trying not to fumble with her keys.

"Don't think I haven't noticed! The brand-name snacks appearing in the kitchen? The shopping trips to Hot Topic? The attempts to play Guitar Hero? They can't _all_ be about tracking down aliens. Well, I wasn't sure the Hot Topic clerk was on the right planet, but that's not the point. You've been trying to be 'cool' all summer."

"I thought we might . . . connect better, if I could talk to you about things you share with people your own age." Sarah Jane avoided Maria's eyes as they walked across the street. "You must think I'm ridiculous."

"No, no, of course not! But haven't we got a good enough connection already? I mean, after six years of saving the world together, you know me probably better than anyone else in the world. And I know you, don't I? The real you, not this person you're trying to be."

"You do. Of course you do. But perhaps not as well as you think." They paused before Maria's door. "I was trying to . . . work my way up, you might say, to making, well, a different sort of connection."

"I'm sorry, I don't . . ."

"If someone your age wanted to kiss you, how would they go about it?"

If Maria looked surprised at that, it was nothing to how Sarah Jane felt. What was the use of careful preparation if you were going to just blurt it out like that? She opened her mouth to explain, to apologize, to do some kind of damage control—

"Someone my age," interrupted Maria, "would have asked back in the car. And then we would have made out for a while, _before_ we ended up on Dad's front porch. But you really are rubbish at acting like a uni student. The question is, what would _you_ do if—"

 

*

For a few minutes she simply lay on the crumpled sheets, skin flushed, body limp with exhaustion, breasts rising and falling as she gasped for air.

Smoothing a damp lock of hair out of her face, Sarah Jane murmured in her ear, "Does that answer your question?"

It took Maria a moment to rein her thoughts into any semblance of coherence, much less remember what she had asked. The answer was yes: her curiosity had been _thoroughly_ satisfied.

Out loud she panted, "I'm not . . . sure it does. Better . . . have another go."

Sarah Jane laughed lightly and draped an arm across her middle. "Tomorrow, perhaps. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not as young as I used to be."

Maria curled contentedly into the embrace. "I wouldn't have it any other way."


End file.
